Surprise
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: The trio get a flat tire on their way back with gifts for a certain birthday boy, and Matsuda has forgotten the jack. Guess who's called to save the day? A companion fic to SOTC. Written for Fenikkusu Ai.


**_Disclaimer! _All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction.**

**Written for Fenikkusu Ai, for her birthday, and as thanks for her readership! And of course, for Mogi's, which is later (September 13th, just three days after mine)! I don't feel I gave Mogi enough attention in SOTC, so I figured, why not give him a present?**

**_SURPRISE _**

It happens in a flash. One minute, the trio is cruising down the freeway, on their way back to headquarters after a successful trip to one of Misa's favorite malls (one of the few successes anyone's made, these days). The next—

_**BANG!**_

What sounds like a gunshot on the left from behind them has all of them yelping as Matsuda hastily pulls over to the side of the road before he loses control of the wheel. But no assassin is chasing after them, which for some reason is the first scenario in Erin's mind. Instead, it's—

"Damn it! A flat, now?" the driver bemoans from just outside Misa's side of the car. Neither passenger can hear him over the roar of oblivious or single-minded drivers passing them by.

"Matsu?"

Misa undoes her seat belt and rolls down the window, peering out like a little child as she squirms onto her knees.

"What's the matter? Misa doesn't like that look on your face."

By the time Erin has wiggled out of her seat to scoot up behind the idol, Matsuda has already gotten up off his knees, as flustered as smoked salmon. He swallows, "Bad news, guys: looks like we've got a flat. W-we must've run over a nail or something."

Dismayed and quite miffed, Misa pouts. "What? You mean _you _drove over a nail, Matsu."

"Hey, cut 'im some slack, Misa. If you were the one driving, you probably wouldn't have seen that nail on the road," chides Erin.

The two stare each other down in the mildest sense of the phrase while Matsuda drums his fingers against the car. Suddenly, his face lights up. "Oh! No worries, I've got a spare and jack in the trunk in case of times like these. Hang in there! We'll be back on the road in no time."

Easier said than done, as it turns out. There is indeed a spare tire in the trunk when Matsuda throws the cover open. The problem?

No jack.

Matsuda has had so much on his mind, lately. The case is still at a standstill, and when he isn't walking on eggshells with Aizawa or rushing back and forth to get coffee, he's all but had his hands tied with the pressures that come with being Misa-Misa's manager, especially with her debut on the big screen on the way.

It's no excuse, though. Why is it that every time he thinks he's prepared for something, it ends up blindsiding him, anyhow? He almost doesn't even want to come back around the front of the car. There he stands, hands clutching the cover of the trunk, heat and sweat condensing on his brow despite the cool September weather. The only two people on the road he's able to hide his face from are the girls watching him from the rear view, their vision of him blocked by the trunk's cover.

"Yo, Matsu! What's the hold-up?"

"…Uh…I…"

"You can't change the tire, can you, Matsu?"

"Well, I-I wouldn't say that, we've got a spare and everything, it's just—"

His shoulders slump in defeat. He's going to be in so much trouble when this is over, but why fight the inevitable? Scratching the back of his head until his scalp is tender, he squeaks, "Yeah. I can't find the jack. I must not have put it back when I finished cleaning out the car…

"Oh man. Ryuzaki's sure to snap his crank when we get back." He's at least able to take care not to say "_if _we get back." The last thing he wants to do is worry the girls.

Misa taps a finger to her cheek, her tweaked eyebrows knitting together. "Misa can think of someone else whose crank is gonna snap soon."

Erin's stomach cramps when that name is mentioned. _He's _the last thing she wants to discuss right now, or the rest of the week, possibly the rest of her life, if she had her way. It's been almost two days since their latest falling-out, and he still hasn't shown signs of remorse, never mind given his apology. Shopping for the birthday boy's special day tomorrow had taken him off her mind for a good part of the day. Now that he's back, her grudge festers like an infected cut.

"And that's how your car got a flat and why we don't have a jack to fix it: because all you can think about is Ryuzaki's crank," she mutters sourly.

It isn't uncommon for Misa and Matsuda to be out late on work days, especially with the shooting of director Nishinaka's latest production still in progress. But sometimes, on one of her precious days off, Misa would ask Erin to go out with her and Matsuda on the town, an offer that Erin has never refused. On these outings, Ryuzaki calls to check in more frequently, mostly to ask about where they are. Particularly when they're out for longer than they should be.

Scratch that. Particularly when they're out for longer than _he thinks _they should be.

This time, it's Matsu who calls on Ryuzaki. Through his belt, built in with a signal that he and the others had been explicitly advised when they'd first gotten them to activate only in times of emergency. Well, this is as much of an emergency as emergencies come. It's getting late, and the girls are getting cold, no matter how tightly they wrap their jackets around themselves or huddle together. If their complaints are of any indication.

Sure enough, Matsuda's J-rock ringtone blares from out of the confines of his pocket. _Number cannot be displayed._ Matsuda fumbles with the phone in his fingers for four seconds before he opens it. "H-hello?"

_"Hello, Mr. Matsuda. Where are you, at the moment? Why did you use the belt?"_

Matsuda takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. "Ryuzaki, hi there! I…I'm really sorry about using the belt, we're all okay. But see, we—I drove over a nail on the freeway on our way back, and—"

_"Your car has a flat tire, Matsuda?"_

In his anxiety, Matsuda doesn't notice that he's strolling alongside the car. "Yes."

_"Do you have a spare?"_

"I do. Except—"

_"You have no jack to prop up the car so that you can replace the tire."_

Matsuda whimpers like a puppy that's just been spanked for whizzing on the carpet, as much as he bites it back. "Y-yeah. That pretty much sums everything."

_"There is no point in having a spare tire without a jack, Mr. Matsuda."_

"I-I know. Can anyone from headquarters drive up here with one?"

Having had more than enough at this point, Erin asks Misa to scoot over, her arm pawing at her friend's elbow out the window. "Matsu, can I have the phone, for a sec?"

"What? You want the—why?"

"Please. I've got something to say to Ryuzaki."

Matsu has a vague inkling that whatever she wants to say won't be nice, and his face tightens more and more with discomfort. But in the end, he hands the bright orange device over, briefly wondering if the sheer inability to say no to anyone can be considered a disability.

"Hang on, Elin wants to, uh, talk."

Erin doesn't mince words or beat around the bush. Probably because she's only talking into a phone and not right to his face. "Where do you get off making him look like a fool?"

_"That is not my intention here, Miss Crocker. He doesn't need me to make him look like a fool."_

"Damn right, he doesn't!" No one notices Matsuda's face deepening from salmon-pink to a near plum-red. "So he screwed up. In case you haven't noticed, we _humans _screw up on the daily. Someone screwed up by leaving a nail out on the damn road, and we screwed up by running over it. But it's not like any of us lost a limb or anything. Misa, did you lose life or limb on this trip?"

"The only thing Misa's losing right now is her patience."

"How 'bout you, Matsu?"

"N-no…"

"You can count my vote as a third 'nay.' _And, _unlike certain people who shall remain anonymous, we actually did something productive. We went out and got presents to surprise Mogi with for his birthday tomorrow. I'll bet my bottom dollar you didn't even get him a card."

_"…Was I supposed to?" _he asks, innocently enough. As in, enough to make her cross-eyed with fury.

"Aw, what? You're yanking my chain, right? Guys, are you hearing this? Apparently, Ryuzaki doesn't think you're supposed to give people presents for their birthday." The girls had always thought of Ryuzaki as something of a dipstick (Erin more so than Misa), but surely even he would know about something as basic as birthday courtesies?

"No way! C'mon, Ryuzaki," Misa shouts into the phone over Erin's shoulder, "how can you not know that? You give people gifts on their birthday to let them know that you appreciate them and their existence, which is what we're doing for Mochi! Hasn't anyone ever given _you_ gifts for your birthday?"

…

Misa blinks, as though having a second thought. "Hey, when_ is _your birthday, anyway?"

_"That, Misa, is classified. It's not something that you should be asking, since you are still a suspect. I hate to cut this conversation short, but Matsuda has yet to give your whereabouts. I need him back on the line, please. Now, if possible."_

The pigtails on top of Misa's head prickle as she yanks Erin's wrist over so as to have the phone directly in her face. "Oh yeah? Well, here's what Misa thinks of your suspicions: _Phhbt!_" She blows a raspberry into the receiver before letting go of Erin's wrist.

Then it's Erin's turn to hoist the phone up to her face. "And this is what I think of you in general: _Phhhhbt!_"

Actually, he deserves the bird far more than a lousy raspberry, except he wouldn't be able to see it, at the moment. The phone has a camera feature to snap and send pictures, but this isn't her phone, to begin with, and she doesn't know where to fire it even if she could. Unsatisfied, she thrusts it back into a flabbergasted Matsuda's hands. "Here ya go, Matsu. We've said all there is to say."

Matsuda eyes the phone warily before pausing to wipe off the receiver with the edge of his sleeve. He gives the details of their location as best and as clearly as he can—Route 1, coming back from Hibiya and shy of Exit 14. By the time the two men hang up, Matsuda breathes, "It'll be okay, guys. Someone from headquarters is going to come over with a jack. We'll be home, soon."

He vaguely dreads that it'd be Aizawa or Mr. Yagami. Aizawa would never let him hear the end of it, and he doesn't want to look any more embarrassing to his Chief than he already does.

Erin pokes her head out the window, scoffing. "Listen, I know he's head honcho and everything, but you've gotta stop worrying so much about what Ryuzaki thinks. First of all, because it's throwing you off your game, and second, it's Mogi's birthday. This whole thing is for Mogi. Is it _Ryuzaki's _birthday?"

"N-no. I don't think so. He never mentioned anything about it…come to think of it, I don't think he's told anyone when his birthday is, at all."

…

For a second, Erin remembers how Ryuzaki hadn't answered either of Misa's questions. Whether he'd ever gotten anything for his own birthday, whenever the hell that is. She mentally curses when the cramps in her stomach start to intensify. What's wrong with that kid? "So…it's not important. Why sweat over a chump who won't even tell you when his birthday is, when you've got a dependable and trustworthy friend and coworker whose birthday you _do _know?"

"Yeah!" cheers Misa. Matsuda winces at the word "chump."

"If he won't tell us because he thinks it'll clue us in on his identity or something, then—then he's a real dipstick. Millions of people were probably born on the same day he was," Erin spits, shaking her head.

No one notices Matsuda's cringing at "dipstick."

…

"That's weird. You usually insist on having the last word during an argument." Provided that that's what one could call Erin's rant over the phone.

Like that had never happened, L resumes typing at his computer. "I've heard that sometimes the best way to manage a dog's incessant barking is to simply let it bark itself out. Giving it any acknowledgment at all, however negative, tends to reinforce the behavior rather than discourage it."

"Ryuzaki! Calling someone a dog, a woman, no less—are you—"

"I'm only drawing a comparison, Light," says Ryuzaki calmly. His gaze never leaves the monitor in front of him. "There's no need to read that deeply into everything I say, is there? Besides, there are times when people aren't so different from animals. People, like dogs, crave attention. And if they think barking will give them the attention they seek, then that's what they'll do."

Light's own gaze narrows in annoyed understanding. "You still haven't apologized to her, have you? She's been on this tear for days."

"And you would know, given that we've been together twenty-four hours of each one."

"Grow up, why don't you? You both need to. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be able to wait for you to do that yourselves, so if you won't make peace…I'll just have to do it on your behalf, don't I?"

"No one said that you had to, Light. It's not your problem."

Light closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Ryuzaki isn't worth breaking his knuckles, not now. "It shouldn't be, but it's_ becoming _my problem."

"Yes, always the Good Samaritan. Perhaps that's how I would think, as well…if I were Kira."

Having the multitasking mind that he does, Ryuzaki is able to simultaneously argue with Light and remember what the girls had said. Kanzo Mogi's birthday is indeed close, isn't it? September 13th. He and everyone will be too busy to have any real celebration, so the trouble-making trio had taken it upon themselves to buy him gifts. "To make him feel appreciated."

From what he knows about birthdays, there are also sweets involved, cake, in particular. With candles. He can't see the practicality of sticking lit candles into a perfectly good cake, since the wax will melt into the frosting and ruin it. Not to mention, blowing out said candles is an effective way of spreading pathogens. And you have to share the cake, despite the fact that it's yours.

His spidery fingers hover millimeters over the keyboard before dancing across the keys. "We'll send Mr. Mogi with that jack. Given that his birthday is tomorrow, I'd imagine that he'd be quite anxious to see what the others have gotten him."

…

If Mogi is even slightly miffed about the entire thing, his chagrin doesn't show on his face, apart from the creases of weariness etched into his thick brow. Not that that's anything new; everyone on the task force has been getting those.

Looks like the surprise has been ruined. Somehow, Erin's not surprised. Ryuzaki has to ruin everything good. They didn't even get the chance to wrap everything.

While the men grunt and hoist the back of the car an inch off the ground at a time, Erin lightly nudges Misa in the ribs from the sideline. "Why'd he have to send Mogi? Now there's no surprise, anymore," she whispers.

"It's because Mochi's got muscles. A lot of muscle is useful for jacking up a car."

Their muttering prompts Mogi to look up from the ground, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from his forehead. "Hm? A surprise? Sorry about spoiling it. For what it's worth, I'm not a huge fan of surprises, anyway." Words of comfort aren't his strongest point.

Misa glares at Erin, who tugs on her shirt collar, averting her eyes. Sometimes it's hard to tell which of them has the bigger mouth.

Once the tire is secured, Matsuda pulls out a handkerchief to wipe the grime from their hands. "Ah, Mogi? I'm really sorry about making you come out here in the cold. We can't thank you enough."

"Just remember to have a jack for next time," Mogi replies mildly. If there's anyone in the group who won't give you a hard time about mistakes, Mogi is them. The rest of the drive is uneventful: with Matsuda leading and Mogi watching their back. Only when they are inside the nice warmth of headquarters do they present their gifts. Might as well get it over with, since there's no surprise anymore.

From Matsuda: a brand-new sushi kit ("I know how much you like making your own sushi!").

From Erin: a polished red bowling ball, in its own carrying case ("Bowling helps me to unwind; maybe it'll help you, too?").

From Misa: an apron with a kiss-mark on the front ("When Misa found this and saw the words 'Kiss the Cook' on it, it made Misa think of you!").

Mogi handles each gift individually, trying not to look too overwhelmed. Oh, he is flattered and grateful; he just isn't used to being showered with so much attention at once, even if it is his birthday, which is still a day away. He's not even sure when he'll find the time to put these presents to use.

The kicker comes in the form of two bowling shirts, from the girls. "We didn't know your size, so we just got the biggest they offered. Misa wanted to get you the pink one, but I insisted that you'd like blue better. In the end, we decided, 'To heck with it. Let's get him both.'"

"Can you blame Misa? Pink looks great on Mochi!"

…

Matsuda bites back a titter. Mogi blinks. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"We'd have gotten the shirts personalized, but you don't like flashy stuff like that, do you, Mochi?" That may be a little late for that.

"That, and you-know-who might've got a pickle up his butt if we gave you stuff that had your name printed on them."

"Erm…thank you for this, guys. You really shouldn't have."

"Oh, but we had to, Mochi! _Happy Almost-Birthday!_" They come down on him like hornets. As soon as Misa wraps her slender arms around him, Erin jumps up from behind him, getting him in a headlock as he starts to rub her knuckles across his scalp in a noogie.

"Yeah, Happy Birthday, big guy! You rock!"

All he can do is sit there, in one of the few helpless moments of his life. Fluff: his greatest weakness. "Uh…"

But he has to draw a line somewhere when Matsu, feeling left out, begins to step forward with his arms outstretched. "Matsu, don't. Please."

Matsu droops. "Awww…"

…

In spite of the three's planned birthday surprise bottoming out, Mogi is not spared from someone else's, the next morning. It isn't until he steps out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and dripping wet from the shower, does he notice it on his bureau, on his way to the closet.

No card, no candle. No indications about who'd left it there besides pure speculation on his end. Only a plate topped with sweet potato cake, lined with several slices of _mochi. _Mogi's favorite desserts (the latter of which is the origin of Misa's nickname for him).

He picks up a piece of _mochi _while his other hand holds the knot in his towel together. Could it be from Matsuda and the girls? Possibly, though he finds it a bit strange that they hadn't left any cards or anything of that sort. Then again, they'd given him more birthday fluff the night before than he could ask for. Maybe it's from Watari? A collaboration, perhaps?

There's no need to make a big deal of it, he decides, taking a deliberate bite from a slice of _mochi._ He closes his eyes to savor the flavor, planning to wrap up the leftovers for later as he pulls out his clothes for the day. He appreciates their thoughts, nevertheless. If there's anyone in the group who will not make a fuss over what shouldn't be made a fuss over, Mogi is them.

**_END_**


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